


The Foot Man

by tara_duchess_of_nil



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Foot Fetish, Hand Jobs, M/M, Thommy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:10:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tara_duchess_of_nil/pseuds/tara_duchess_of_nil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Downton Charity Drive on tumblr, from gigitrek's prompt of "sock garters/leg fetish/foot fetish". </p><p>Jimmy drops a deck of cards, finds himself on his hands and knees and toe-tally in his element. (Ugh, sorry about the toe-tally thing. Somebody really needs to stop me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Foot Man

“Show us a card trick, Jimmy,” Thomas said, as he lit another cigarette and then blew smoke rings just above Alfred’s bowed head. He leaned back in his chair at the table in the servants’ hall with a satisfied smirk. Alfred looked up from his recipe collection, rolled his eyes at the offending smoke and sighed.

A slight smile curled at the right corner of Jimmy’s mouth, “Certainly, Mr. Barrow. I’ve been working on a new one as a matter of fact.” He looked down at the pack of old cards and shuffled them, trying not to grin too widely or look Thomas in the eye. “Working really hard.”

“Card trick” had become their code for: When the last person goes to bed—and it always seems to be Annoying Alfred—I’m walking over to the stables. You wait ten minutes and meet me there, in the empty stall between “Blue” and “Commander”.

Jimmy raised the deck in one hand and attempted a showy bit of shuffling but was distracted by the sudden loud scrape of Peter the hallboy’s chair as he stood up. The cards missed Jimmy’s other hand and fluttered to the floor and under the table. 

“Ahhhh, butterfingers. Blast it,” Jimmy grumbled. “Look what you’ve gone and made me do.” He elbowed Peter in the upper arm for emphasis and the hall boy shrugged and ran upstairs. (Jimmy, with his less-than-successful feats at manliness, didn’t garner much respect from the younger servants.)

Jimmy called half-heartedly after him, “Get back here, you toerag!”

“Bet you know nothing about butterfingers, do you Mr. Barrow?” Alfred said with a tinge of disdain.

Jimmy went white and Thomas turned red. Jimmy had raided the larder last night for butter when Thomas’ jar of petrol was scraped dry. (Thomas had previously thought he was going to take that jar full and unopened to his grave.) Both men’s hearts dropped at the thought of Alfred catching them somehow again.

Thomas cleared his throat and answered as coolly as possible, “Whatever do you mean, Alfred?”

“In cricket. You must have never dropped the ball. That’s why his lordship was so keen on you playing.”

Thomas and Jimmy quickly exchanged sideways glances and the footman suddenly dove under the table with a grunt and got on his hands and knees. As he crawled across the floor to pick up the scattered cards, he found himself face-to-face with Thomas’ legs.

It was one of the things that no one seemed to notice about Thomas. He was constantly jiggling his leg, his knee bouncing up and down, as if it were about to shake loose from his body. But he was very subtle about it; it was the only visible sign of nervousness that seem to leak from his cool exterior.

But Jimmy knew. Jimmy had spent his days observing Thomas, trying to get past the mystery. With Jimmy himself, there was no mystery left. While he was smooth and gallant and efficient, he lacked the stoic countenance to be a truly exceptional footman, and was more often than not being reprimanded by both Thomas and Mr. Carson for not keeping his expressions in check.

Jimmy touched the hem of Thomas’ trousers like he was clasping a butterfly’s wings. He then slowly snaked his hand up Thomas’ trouser leg, past his ankle, up his black socks to his sock garter. (Jimmy never wore them in his attempt to be more masculine, thinking that they were too close to a ladies’ stocking garter to be of any use. As a result, his socks were constantly falling down which was irritating but easy to hide under his livery.)

He traced the outline of the elastic fabric against Thomas’ calf. His muscle was hard and toned but his skin was remarkably soft underneath a sprinkling of dark hair. Jimmy ran his hand reverently up and down Thomas’s calf and moved to his shin, then decided to roll up his trouser leg. The footman had spent so much time focusing on Thomas’ cock and inner thighs that he had never even bothered to think about what was below them. He snapped the garter against Thomas’ skin and the underbutler flinched and stifled a cry, but not so much that it slipped past Alfred’s eager ears.

“You alright there, Mr. Barrow?” he asked with a raised, almost non-existent eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m fine, Alfred,” Thomas replied as he tried to shake Jimmy from his leg but the footman clung on tightly and swallowed a laugh. He picked up one of the cards—the ace of clubs—and slipped it between the garter and Thomas’ calf. He leaned back and marveled in his handiwork, then rolled down Thomas’ trouser leg, gently patting the fabric back into place.

Jimmy saw Alfred’s long legs push back as he stood up, said goodnight and headed upstairs.

Once Alfred’s heavy footsteps disappeared, Thomas bent down to peer at Jimmy and hissed, “What the bloody hell are you playing at?”

Jimmy feigned innocence and said, “I told you it’s a new card trick.”

“I know what a ‘card trick’ is.”

“Guess which card I’ve tucked into your garter and if you’re right, I’ll do anything you want me to,” Jimmy said smugly.

“You already do what I want you to do,” Thomas replied even more smugly.

“Well, forget about that, Thomas, for a second and just play along. Please.”

Thomas thought for a moment (he could never refuse Jimmy anything) and said, “Alright, is it the … king of hearts?”

Jimmy paused for a moment and cursed himself. The king of hearts would have been the perfect card, not the damn ace of clubs. “YES. You’re bloody clairvoyant, you are!”

“No, you’re just a predictable romantic,” Thomas said, then bit his bottom lip and looked down at Jimmy coyly. (Jimmy always somehow made him melt like a blushing schoolgirl.)

“Well, what’s it gonna be then?” the footman asked with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Thomas put his arms out straight and drummed his fingers on the tabletop, pondering the possibilities.

“Hmmmm, I’ve been rushed off my feet all day long and they’re aching like mad,” Thomas groaned, stretching his legs for emphasis. “I don’t suppose you could … rub them a tick?”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows, waiting for Thomas to say he was pulling his leg. (pun intended)

“Oh? Alright …” Jimmy said cheerfully while still thinking the request was rather tame and rather unlike Thomas. He rolled up each trouser leg, then set to work taking off Thomas’ shiny black shoes. He laid them carefully to the side, then slowly—as if performing a striptease—pulled down Thomas’ left sock, letting his hand caress Thomas’ calf along the way.

“Oi, stop messing about and get on with it,” Thomas whispered, yet he was secretly thrilled to be getting away with such a seemingly intimate act right there in the servants’ hall—even if they were the only two in the room and would be until the very early hours of the morning.

Jimmy snickered and pulled of Thomas’ sock to reveal his foot. It was slender, tapering. Just like his hands and the long fingers that coaxed the most ungodly noises from deep inside Jimmy’s throat almost every night for the past 62 days (not that Jimmy was counting). He ran his hands over the top of Thomas’ left foot and sighed, then repeated the same slow tease on his right foot while the underbutler shifted in his seat and sighed in return.

Jimmy sat with his legs crossed and put Thomas’ feet on his thighs. The man’s feet seemed to have never seen the light of day and were almost glowing and impossibly paler than the rest of his skin. He folded the socks neatly and placed them on top of the shoes and ran his hands lightly around Thomas’ ankles and then up to his garters. He stopped for a moment, slipped his thumbs under them and pulled, snapping them back with an audible crack.

“Bloody hell!” Thomas yelped, then clamped his gloved hand over his mouth and groaned. “I’ll kick you into next week, Jimmy Kent, if you dare do that again,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Mmmm, I hope so.” came the voice from under the table.

Thomas snorted. There was no end to the ways that Jimmy surprised him. Every suggestion, every position, every night a yes. The ties, the lipstick, the candle wax … all of it done with varying levels of gusto on both parts but they happened. And even when it was bad, it was still very, very good.

Thomas reached into his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out as Jimmy began softly rubbing the tops of his feet. For the next few minutes, the footman was lost in his task, pressing his thumbs into his arches, kneading out the soreness in his heels, and squeezing the tension out of every toe. With every touch, Thomas moaned softly and muttered words of encouragement, “Yes, right there. Oh god, that’s good. That’s so good. Mmmmmmm. Yes.”

(Jimmy would never admit this to anyone but part of his duties under Lady Anstruther was to give her a foot massage every night. Jimmy secretly and embarrassingly enjoyed it, knowing that the slightest pressure anywhere on the old lady’s dainty feet would cause her to coo in delight. She had told him on several occasions that he was the best she’d ever had, and he would lap up the praise like a puppy.)

Jimmy hands (as well as his cock with every moan that dripped from Thomas’ mouth) were beginning to ache, but he wanted to do something more. Something completely unexpected. Leaving Thomas flabbergasted had become one of his hobbies and he grasped the balls of his lover’s feet and then gently kissed each toe, earning shivers from the man above him.

Jimmy then took a deep breath and took Thomas’ big toe in his mouth, tasting the musky saltiness and lightly sucking on it.

Thomas sat straight up and stuttered, “Ah ah ah ahhhhh … Jimmmmmmmyyyy.” The footman grabbed Thomas’ ankles to keep him from standing up in shock.

Thomas was already growing hard and Jimmy’s mouth sent a new rush of blood and tingling like there was a direct nerve from his toe to his cock. It was a totally alien sensation—the warmth, the wetness, the edge of teeth that threatened to turn into a bite—on a most unusual body part. Thomas leaned back in his chair and let his head hang over the edge, his carefully pomaded hair coming loose in dark strands.

Jimmy looked up at Thomas and saw him frantically unbuttoning his trousers and pulling his cock out of his pants. Thomas was red-faced and heavy lidded, and the sight of his lover becoming so undone was enough for Jimmy. He awkwardly slipped his trousers down and reached into his pants with one hand to free his erection.

Jimmy worked his way across Thomas’ toes, first sucking gently and then increasing the depth, pausing only to check his lover’s hand on his cock, and mimicking the movement and speed at which Thomas was stroking himself.

Thomas had pulled off his tie and unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt. Jimmy watched fascinated as Thomas mouthed his name over and over again in between moans, “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.”

Hearing his name chanted as if Thomas were rapturously speaking in tongues brought Jimmy to the precipice. As soon as he could tell Thomas’ orgasm was imminent (it was the now familiar cry of, “ah ah ah ah I can’t I can’t” that did it), Jimmy popped his toe out of his mouth in time to see the beautiful sight of Thomas spurting his seed through his fingers and onto the floor. That was enough for the footman, who came hard and fast, bumping his head on the tabletop and earning a lump that would last a week in the process.

When both men finally caught their breath, Jimmy took the card he had slipped underneath Thomas’ garter and crawled out to claim the chair beside him.

“THIS is your card,” Jimmy said a bit sheepishly, flashing the ace of clubs in front of Thomas’ icy blue gaze. “I’m sorry. You certainly do beat me in all things romantic.”

“I figured as much. You're a lousy magician and a worse liar,” Thomas chuckled, ruffling Jimmy’s once-perfect wave. “Doesn't matter because you've got me wrapped around your finger, Jimmy Kent.”

“And other places now, too, I suppose,” Jimmy laughed and Thomas punched him in the upper arm.

“Let’s go to bed.”


End file.
